


Badges of Pride, Marks of Ownership

by beetle



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Post-Inception
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-10 02:28:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/780721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beetle/pseuds/beetle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this inception_kink prompt, "Someone has a bad taste in their mouth either literally or metaphorically. "Wow, that was bitter tasting. EWWW." or "Wow, that person really pissed me off, etc, etc." I want detailed descriptions of one of them helping the other so the bad taste doesn't linger!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Badges of Pride, Marks of Ownership

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I lost a cage match to Nolan. For now, Inception is his.  
> Notes: Set post-Inception. A sequel to "Orchids And Pink Bandaids," but can be read as a stand alone.

“No, I really  _don’t_  think your father would want me to get you four extra packs of Oreos. One is enough,” Robert says, trying to lay down the law in the face of James’s pout.  
  
He clears his throat and looks down at the list, which is covered in Dom’s large, blocky print. “He does, however, want us to pick up some frozen chicken nuggets . . . ugh, exactly what part of the chicken is the  _nugget_? Or do I want to know?”  
  
“They’re  _good_ ,” James reassures him, happy and excited once more. “C’mon, Robert!”  
  
He skips off, leaving Robert to maneuver his half full cart through the crowds of other shoppers. It seems like just as Robert manages to avoid slamming into one cart, he slams into another, earning tired glares and grumbles.  
  
This is the first time Robert’s ever gone to a supermarket, and it’s been, in a word, intimidating. The place is  _huge_ , and just trying to find everything on Dom’s list while keeping track of James—who’s been trying to convince Robert to buy every unhealthy thing in the store with the one exception of alcohol (although they haven’t reached that aisle, yet)—has proven to be tiresome and nerve-wracking.  
  
“James—wait there for me,” he calls out as James rounds a display of what looks like frozen yogurt. Robert hurries after him, abandoning politeness in favor of keeping up with his lover’s headstrong child.  
  
“Why, James Cobb, is that you, all by yourself?”  
  
Startled and a little worried, Robert puts on a burst of speed and turns the corner, only narrowly avoiding ramming into a tiny old lady who calls him a  _fucktard_.  
  
“Sorry! Sorry!” Robert hurries down the relatively empty aisle toward James, who’s finally stopped skipping and is craning his neck up at someone.  
  
Looming over him is a tall, slim woman of middle years, with a red basket on her arm and fresh flowers in her hand. She’s icily regal, and wearing a tasteful beige pants suit; she reminds Robert of one of his father’s executive assistants.  
  
“Hi, Mrs. Hammond,” James says then darts back toward Robert. He doesn’t look as happy as he had before, but shortly enough, he’s climbing on the front of the cart and eyeing the contents critically. “I think we need ice cream, too,” he says.  
  
“But ice cream isn’t on your father’s list, though.” Robert smiles uncertainly as the woman—Mrs. Hammond—draws even with them. She returns Robert’s smile, showing strong, perfect teeth, then aims that smile at James. “My, just look at how big you’re getting!”  
  
James scowls. “I’m almost six,” he says defiantly, and Mrs. Hammond laughs as if truly tickled.  
  
“Ah, such a big boy! Yes, you are!” She shares an indulgent glance with Robert, who laughs, too. James’s affronted glance darts between them both then he huffs and scampers off again, to one of the freezer units a few feet away. He peers in, squinting.  
  
“And these! We need these, too!” He shouts excitedly, opening the freezer and hauling something out. All Robert can make out is many bright colors, and he reflects absently on how much easier shopping with a child in tow would be if said child were color-blind.  
  
Mrs. Hammond, meanwhile, is giving him an assessing once-over—the kind he’s quite used to getting from women of a certain age—and holds out her slim, manicured hand. “I’m Marjean Hammond, I live across the street from Mr. Cobb—and you’re a friend of his. . . ?”  
  
“Yes. Robert Fischer,” Robert says, taking her hand. She’s got a limp, brief shake and a cool hand. The kind of handshake Robert’s father—and, incidentally, Robert himself—doesn’t think much of.  
  
“He’s Daddy’s boyfriend,” James pipes up as he reaches the cart with his multi-colored, individually wrapped treats: some sort of frozen dessert. “Robert, can I have these icees?”  
  
“Uh, sure, sweetheart. But only two,” Robert says distractedly, not quite noticing that James dumps  _all_  the icees into the cart. Robert’s paying much more attention to the way Marjean Hammond’s face changes from pleasantly, if coolly, curious, to disapproving and closed-off.  
  
“I see,” she says, all hard politeness and stony eyes that rake all over Robert. That gaze makes him wish he were in one of his suits, rather than one of Dom’s shirts—which bags on him—and a pair of Dom’s old jeans, belted tight at the waist.  
  
(It makes him wish Dom hadn’t given him three large, very visible hickeys this morning, or that the damn shirt had a higher collar.)  
  
“Well!” Mrs. Hammond says, that fake smile wider than ever. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Fischer—and nice to see you again, James.”  
  
“Bye, Mrs. Hammond,” James mumbles after her retreating form. He’s already got one of the icees open and in his mouth. The area surrounding it is stained purple.  
  
For a minute, Robert stands there, trying to process what, exactly, had happened. The conclusion he comes to isn’t one he likes. Not at all.  
  
“Do you think we should get some more? For Pippa?” James asks, slurping up the last of his purple icee, and Robert shakes himself out of his reverie, mustering up a smile.  
  
Even James’s teeth are purple.  
  
“I think that one, two, three— _ten_  is enough for the both of you,” Robert says firmly, laughing past the sudden, bitter taste in his mouth—though it rings hollow to his own ears.  
  


*

  
  
“Daddy? We’re home!”  
  
James races down the hall ahead of Robert, who’s practically juggling three big bags of groceries.  
  
“Hey, soldier!” Dom comes out of the kitchen and sweeps James up into his arms for a ringing kiss on each cheek. James makes a  _blech!_  sound and wipes at his face, and Dom laughs and kisses him again. “I take it the mission for sustenance went well?”  
  
“Ah-ffirmative!” James says, grinning a purple grin. Dom rolls his eyes and puts the boy down when he notices Robert struggling down the hall.  
  
“Here lemme get those from you, babe.” Dom hurries over and takes all three bags without any signs of having to juggle or balance any of them. He even leans in for a quick kiss. He tastes like apple juice. “How was your first trip to the supermarket?”  
  
“It was . . . enlightening,” Robert says lamely, and Dom frowns a little, searching Robert’s face.  
  
“Did something happen?”  
  
“No, no.” Robert finds another smile from somewhere and takes back one of the bags from Dom. “I think this is the one with the ice cream. We should probably put it away.”  
  
“Oh-kay.” Dom searches his face again, then sighs, looking at James, who’s watching them like they’re television. “Though I don’t recall putting ice cream on the list. . . .”  
  
James fidgets a little. “Can you believe it, Daddy? Robert’s never had cookie dough ice cream once in his  _whole entire life_.”  
  
“Hmm,” Dom says, starting down the hall. James and Robert follow him, the former talking a mile a minute, the latter silent and brooding.  
  


*

  
  
There’s a knock on the bedroom door.  
  
“Uh—come in,” Robert says, feeling vaguely foolish telling Dom to come into his own bedroom, and when the door opens he sighs. “Want me to come with you to pick up Pippa?”  
  
“Nah. She’s at Kelly Finch’s house until dinner. Mrs. Finch’ll drop her off around 5:30.” Dom pauses. “So . . . you gonna tell me what happened?”  
  
Robert opens his eyes as Dom enters the bedroom, closing the door and leaning on it. Rolling onto his side and staring at the clock radio readout, Robert sighs again. “It’s nothing.”  
  
“Bullshit.”  
  
The bed dips a little as Dom sits behind Robert, then spoons up behind him. Teasing, feather-light kisses wend their way from Robert’s nape, to the collar of the shirt, and Dom flicks his tongue across one of the hickeys. Robert shivers.  
  
“James tells me you ran into Marjean Hammond at the supermarket.”  
  
Robert closes his eyes again and tries to focus only on the delightful things Dom is doing to his neck. “That we did. Charming woman.”  
  
Dom snorts, a soft plume of cool breath that makes Robert shiver and moan a little in the back of his throat. “Hardly. She’s a bigot and a bitch. Mal couldn’t stand her. Neither can Pippa.”  
  
Surprised, Robert turns to face Dom. Serious blue eyes meet his own, and he smiles half-heartedly. “Well. At least I’m in good company.”  
  
“You  _are_  good company.” Dom leans in and kisses him. For awhile, that’s all there is: comforting, sweet kisses and Dom’s embrace . . . and when it ends, Robert is curled up in Dom’s arms, face hidden in his chest.  
  
“I’m not some delicate flower,” Robert tells him. “Wilting every time someone judges me. If I were, I wouldn’t have made it through childhood. My father was . . . kind of a bastard—in the vein of your Mrs. Hammond. When he found out I was gay . . . he never looked at me the same way, again. In fact, he looked at me the same way Mrs. Hammond did. . . .”  
  
Dom kisses the crown of his head. “Did she say something derogatory? Because I’ll personally rip her a new asshole if she—“  
  
“No, no, she didn’t say anything at all, she just . . . walked away. Said it was nice to meet me in a tone that said it clearly  _wasn’t_ , and walked away.” Robert sits up a little, rolling onto his stomach so he can look Dom in the eyes again. He finds that those eyes steady and bolster him. Make him feel like more of a man than anything ever has.  
  
He thinks that’s at least half the reason he’s in love with Dominic Cobb.  
  
“But she made me feel small, and for a moment . . .  _ashamed_ ,” Robert admits quietly. “Fuck, it was like coming out to my father all over again. I couldn’t defend myself, couldn’t even think, really, beyond wanting the Earth to open up and swallow me whole . . . pathetic, huh?”  
  
Dom frowns thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t say so. It sounds like,” he continues carefully. “It sounds like your father programmed you to be very sensitive to other people’s expectations of and assumptions about you.”  
  
Robert shrugs, looking away. “Maybe. But I can’t keep blaming my father for my failings. I did that for the first thirty-three years of my life. I don’t intend to do it anymore.”  
  
“Knowing the  _reasons_  for your reactions isn’t the same as blaming someone else for them. It’s just an acknowledgement.” Dom brushes his finger along Robert’s jaw, and nudges until Robert looks at him again. “And being gay isn’t a failing, you know.”  
  
“I know.” Robert smiles a little, scooting up the bed to kiss Dom’s lips. To let apples, and something salty-sweet that’s just  _Dom_  chase the taste of shame and Mrs. Hammond out of his mouth. “You’re the best decision I’ve ever made—the best thing in my life. When I said a failing, I meant . . . the fact that I still fucking  _crumble_  inside when someone, even a stranger, judges me.” Shaking his head, he tucks his face in the crook of Dom’s neck, inhaling deeply, letting Dom’s scent comfort him. “It’s not as bad as it used to be. I don’t hide behind my money or power, or use them to intimidate people anymore, but . . . sometimes it feels like I’m naked. Like there’s nothing between me and the disapproval of the entire world.”  
  
“Oh, Robert, honey, trust me, it’s not the entire world. And you’re not alone,” Dom whispers. “Not alone in feeling that way, and not alone  _period_. You’ve got me, and Pippa, and James on your side.”  
  
“Do I?”  
  
Dom nods, and Robert risks a glance up at him. “Of course you do. We love you. Especially James—” he chuckles. “I mean,  _three_  cartons of cookie dough ice cream? You’re his new hero.”  
  
Robert rolls his eyes. “We barely got them all into the freezer. That boy’s got the gift of the gab, as my mother would’ve said.”  
  
“She’d have been right.” Dom tilts his head curiously. “What was she like, if you don’t mind me asking?”  
  
Pursing his lips a little, Robert thinks back over twenty years, to his last, most vivid memories of her—sick, but still lovely, still  _loving_ , still so kind. . . .  
  
Then he thinks back even earlier, before she got sick, before his father became distant and cruel.  
  
“She was . . . smart and funny, and  _beautiful_. And so wonderful.” He swallows, blinking a little and sniffing. He always tears up a bit when he thinks of her, of all the time that was taken from them. “She’d have  _loved_  James and Pippa. And you. She always wanted me to be happy, and you . . . all three of you . . . make me so happy.”  
  
Dom grins: a bright, happy one that makes him look younger than Robert. It’s the smile James inherited, the one that made Robert buy a ridiculous amount of cookie dough ice cream, even though he personally thinks it sounds revolting.  
  
“You know . . . James is watching  _Gak Attack_ ,” Dom murmurs, his eyes flicking down to Robert’s lips. “So he’ll be in a trance for at least the next forty-five minutes. . . .”  
  
“Hmm.” Robert returns the grin, shimmying a little against Dom. “I wonder how we could possibly fill up all that time.”  
  
“Well,” Dom says casually, taking Robert’s hand from his chest and pushing it lower. “I think I have an idea.”  
  
“Do tell.”  
  
“I think I’d rather show.”  
  
Robert licks his lips and unzips Dom’s jeans, sliding his hand inside. Dom’s not wearing underwear, so the very first thing Robert encounters is Dom’s half-hard cock. He grasps it lightly, sliding his fist up and down it, till Dom’s eyes flutter shut.  
  
“Is all this for me?” Robert asks, swiping his thumb across the tip, smearing pre-come. Dom bucks up slightly, moaning.  
  
“Oh, yeah.  _All_  for you.”  
  
“Mm.” Robert kisses Dom’s collar bone, biting hard enough to leave a hickey of his own. Proof of ownership. “Want me to suck you?”  
  
Dom shudders. “Always.”  
  
“Then lift up a little.” When Dom obeys, Robert gets to his knees and pulls the ratty jeans down Dom’s legs, and off. He tosses them over his shoulder in the direction of the rocking chair. Dom’s blue-blue eyes open, and he smiles, sitting up to kiss Robert lingeringly.  
  
“I want you,” he breathes between kisses, sliding his hands under Robert’s shirt and pushing it up. “I want you to suck me off till I’m so hard, I can’t even think. Then I want you to ride me.”  
  
“Yeah,” Robert says, swallowing. “That can be arranged.” He lifts his arms and Dom removes the shirt, tossing it in the same direction as the jeans. Then he’s kissing Robert’s chest, interspersing the kisses with gentle bites. When his teeth close around Robert’s right nipple, Robert’s cock practically leaps up in his trousers. “Oh,  _fuck_.”  
  
“That’s the general plan.” Dom mumbles around his nipple, laughing. Then he unbuttons Robert’s trousers, pushing them and Robert’s boxers down. He palms Robert’s cock, squeezing and copying the very same things Robert’s doing to him.  
  
They look into each other’s eyes, smiling and panting.  
  
“At this rate, I’m not gonna last long.”  
  
“Me neither,” Dom agrees, kissing him lightly. “Christ, as much as I want your mouth, I want your ass more. I want you above me, fucking yourself on my cock.”  
  
Robert moans, loud and long, and he nuzzles Dom’s cheek, down to his neck. “I want that, too. _God_ , I want that.”  
  
The next few minutes are a confusion of hushed laughter and scrambling for lube ( _not_  in the night table, but finally found under Dom’s pillow, shoved there from this morning).  
  
Dom coats his fingers, and without waiting for the lube to warm, strokes his way between Robert’s cheeks, finding his entrance and pressing against it till Robert starts moaning again. Dom swallows those moans with kisses and pushes his index finger into Robert, who squirms back onto it, muscles clenching tight and trying to pull Dom’s finger deeper.  
  
“I’m ready for you now,” Robert pants after less than a minute. “ _So_  ready. Fuck me.”  
  
“Gotta stretch you properly, first,” Dom apologizes, pulling his finger out, only to push two back in. He scissors them slowly, even as Robert clutches at him with desperate hands, his fingernails leaving half-moon shaped indents in Dom’s shoulders and back.  
  
“Three,” he chants lowly. “Three, three, three. . . .”  
  
Dom pulls Robert tight against him and adds a third finger, pressing in further and further, till he finds Robert’s prostate.  
  
“Oooohhhh,” Robert sighs, his cock twitching and leaking as he rocks himself onto Dom’s fingers, then against Dom’s abdomen. “ _Now_.”  
  
“Think you’re ready for my cock?”  
  
Robert opens his eyes and looks into Dom’s hot, amused ones. “Don’t play with me, Dominic. Not now,” he husks.  
  
“But I  _like_  playing with you.”  
  
Pouting, Robert clenches his muscles around Dom’s fingers till all traces of amusement are gone, leaving only heat and desire. Smirking, Robert licks his lips again. “I want to come with you inside me. Make that happen.”  
  
Dom swears and flops down on the bed, pulling Robert down with him. He works his fingers out of Robert and Robert straddles his pelvis. Dom lines himself up quickly with the ease of practice then bucks up hard and fast, forcing his way past the still-tight first ring of muscle. They both hiss, and Robert bears down tight on Dom’s cock, getting to his knees once more. Dom bends his knees and Robert puts his hands on them for support, and pushes himself slowly up, till Dom’s barely inside him.  
  
Laser-beam blue eyes following him all the way, Robert grins and lowers himself quickly, impaling himself on Dom. This time they both whimper.  
  
“Fuck, you feel so fucking  _good_ ,” Dom says shakily, and Robert laughs breathlssly.  
  
“Ditto.” He lifts himself up again, and this time lowers himself centimeter by torturous centimeter, sinking wholly into the sweet, burning ache of being forced open.  
  
Big, warm hands settle on his thighs and Robert opens eyes he hadn’t been aware of closing.  
  
“You’re so perfect,” Dom murmurs, then groans, bucking up again, swiveling his hips until Robert cries out grinds down onto him.  
  
“Right there,  _right. There_ ,” he breathes, and Dom moans.  
  
“That’s right . . . ride me, baby,” he cajoles, and Robert nods, lifting himself up again on arms and legs that quiver. Dom’s eyes follow him again, and he’s biting his lip.  
  
“Love you,” Robert promises, and for a longer than either of them expects, nothing else is said.  
  


*

  
  
When Robert wakes up, the room is almost totally dark, but for the last of the sunset staining the walls in faint, orange-pink light.  
  
“Dom?” he calls hoarsely, rolling onto his stomach and burying his face in the pillows. They smell of Dom’s shampoo and cologne.  
  
There’s no answer, and Dom’s half of the bed is cool to the touch. Sighing and stretching his aching, delightfully tired body, Robert lays there, half dozing. He can hear the sounds of the children laughing and playing downstairs, occasionally interspersed with Dom’s voice.  
  
It’s all so . . . homey and domestic, something Robert would never have thought he’d be content with. Now, he finds himself basking in it.  
  
And he continues to bask until the orange-pink light is gone and the room is nearly pitch black. He’s almost fallen back to sleep when the bedroom door opens quietly.  
  
“Baby?”  
  
Robert whines a little. “Not now. Sleeping.”  
  
Dom chuckles and shuts the door. A second later, the bed dips and the night table lamp clicks on. “C’mon, lazybones. It’s almost dinner time.”  
  
“How about dinner in bed?”  
  
Dom chuckles again. “The kids are already asking after you. I can’t very well tell them Robert’s too fucked out to join us for dinner.”  
  
Robert turns his head and squints his eyes open to look at his lover. Dom’s smiling, his face relaxed and fond in the soft, yellow light. Robert can’t help but return such a lovely smile.  
  
“You’re so beautiful,” he says quietly. Dom’s eyebrows quirk up.  
  
“Have you ever tried looking in a mirror?” He leans down to kiss Robert. It’s a languid, gentle kiss, long and perfect.  
  
Dom’s hand strokes the small of Robert’s back, then moves lower, to his ass. . . .  
  
“You’re still stretched from before,” he notes, and Robert nips his lower lip.  
  
“Ah-ffirmative.” He snakes his hand into Dom’s lap to find that he’s not quite hard, but definitely not soft. Robert gives him a teasing squeeze.  
  
“Want you inside me again,” he whispers on Dom’s lips. “We don’t have to fuck if you don’t want to, but I just need your weight on me, holding me down like an anchor. I just need to  _feel_  you on me and in me.”  
  
Leaning his forehead against Robert’s Dom lets out a breath. “ _Fuck_. You don’t make it easy to say no.”  
  
“Then  _don’t_  say no.”  
  
Dom swears again, but when he stands up, he pushes down his jeans and steps out of them, already half hard. Robert buries his face in the pillow again, humming happily as Dom settles between his spread legs, positions himself, then guides himself home, sweet, slow, and true.  
  
“Mmm . . . that’s so good,” Robert sighs turning his face to the side again. Dom kisses his cheek and lowers himself onto Robert’s back and bracketing his legs.  
  
It feels  _amazing_. Oh, Robert has to work a little harder to breathe, but it’s so worth it to be just. Like.  _This_.  
  
They lay there, not speaking, until Dom kisses his cheek again and rolls them onto their sides without breaking the connection of their bodies. “The delivery guy’s gonna get here any minute,” he says. But he wraps one arm around Robert’s waist and begins thrusting, measured and deliberate.  
  
“Then we’d better make this quick,” Robert holds Dom within him and clenches his muscles as tight as he can, then releases. Then repeats the process until Dom is panting in his ear and clutching at his hip hard enough to bruise.  
  
Their bodies work against each other faster and faster, till Dom grunts and holds Robert tight against him for a long moment . . . then Robert’s murmuring  _yes_ es as he’s filled with wet heat.  
  
“I love you,” Dom groans, still pumping his softening erection in and out of Robert’s body, cupping Robert’s balls and squeezing them, while alternately jerking him off.  
  
Closing his eyes, Robert bucks his hips, pushing into the hot, perfect channel of Dom’s fist. He’s at the edge—almost there, trembling and breathless with the need to come. . . .  
  
Then Dom starts sucking and biting hickeys into Robert’s neck. Loving, livid marks of ownership for everyone to see, and gawk at, and be utterly green with jealous over—and who gives a flying fuck about the Marjean Hammonds of the world? For the first time in his life, Robert Fischer has everything he didn’t know he needed,  _till_  he had it.  
  
For the first time in his life, Robert Fischer . . . is  _happy_.  
  
“Dom,” he breathes softly then he’s spilling over Dom’s fist for what feels like an eternity. Throughout, Dom keeps moving in him and murmuring things like how wonderful and beautiful Robert is, and that he loves him.  
  
Afterwards they lay there, holding hands with linked fingers.  
  
“God, we’re like a couple of teenagers,” Dom says laconically, and Robert laughs sleepily.  
  
“I don’t know about you, but I didn’t get laid till I was twenty. I was . . . awkward as a teenager.”  
  
“Aw, I’ll bet you were cute.” Dom kisses him behind his left ear.  
  
“If you find scrawny little math-letes with giant glasses and head-gear cute, then I was adorable.”  
  
Dom snorts. “I should show you my yearbook photo. I was a sneering, pretentious little outcast with long, rarely-washed hair and bad skin.” He snorts again. “I didn’t even have a great personality to make up for it. All I did was glare and call people ‘fascist pricks.’”  
  
Robert laughs again. “You sound like this boy I had the worst crush on when I was a sophomore—“  
  
Just then the doorbell rings.  
  
“Our repast has arrived. So much for the afterglow,” Dom grumbles, sitting up and clambering over Robert to get to his jeans. He hops into them as Robert watches with lazy amusement.  
  
Dom’s eyebrows shoot up as he zips and buttons his fly, and readjusts his shirt. “You really want me to bring you dinner in bed, babe? ‘Cause I will.”  
  
“Nah.” Robert sits up, stretching and grinning. “Gimme a few minutes to shower and I’ll be down.”  
  
Dom smiles that contented smile again. “Good. But hurry, or I won’t leave any naan for you.”  
  
“Oh, you greedy  _bastard!_ ” Robert calls as Dom jogs out of the room and down the stairs, laughing.  
  
Taking another moment to bask— _how is this my life?_ , he wonders, blissed out, fucked out, and _worn out_  in the best way—Robert gets himself up, listening to the chorus of aches and twinges his body makes, and cataloguing every scratch, bite, and bruise on his too-fair skin.  
  
Badges of pride and marks of ownership, all.  
  
Whistling to himself, he grabs Dom’s bathrobe and makes his way to the bathroom.


End file.
